


Season's Givings

by Bearuh



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Barista Spy, Fluff, Late Christmas post, M/M, Silly Hat Shenanigans, an attempt at humor, it probably failed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:51:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bearuh/pseuds/Bearuh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sniper never really was a fan of Christmas, and Spy never fails to remind him as to why. </p>
<p>Hats, Christmas cheer, and a barista Spy. Also Engie laughing in the background.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Season's Givings

Sniper, contently drinking his third cup of coffee, was holding casual conversation with his good buddy Engie. They were talking about cars funnily enough, and how Sniper’s van was getting a little run down. Engie had offered to go out and take a quick look at it, maybe even suggest what parts needed to be replaced, and point him in the direction of a good mechanic. He was specialized in robots and machine guns, he said, when the Aussie had asked why he couldn’t fix it himself. Sniper then jokingly replied with, “Well why don’t you just turn my damn motor home into a death machine, mate? Give it guns on the dashboard and spikes on the wheels—maybe then I could just drive on the battlefield and win us all a good few rounds, eh?”  
  
They shared a good laugh at that, and Engie proceeded to explain that he had tried to do that to his own vehicle once, but it had ended rather drastically. The doors tried to kill him and it refused to drive less than 50 miles per hour. Sniper claimed he liked a car with personality, but drew the line at the speedometer—he was a responsible driver, after all.  
  
Their conversation was cut short when a shadow appeared over the table.  
  
Sniper sensed danger, and grimaced.  
  
“What you want, spook?”  
  
Spy sounded rather offended that his comrade could identify him so easily, but shook his head nonetheless and took a seat at the table. His arms were behind his back.  
  
“Oh, nothing, _mon ami._ Why must you make it sound like I am always causing trouble?” he reached for Sniper’s black coffee, but was deterred by Sniper’s hands swatting at him.  
  
“Oi, leave me Joe alone.” He pulled his mug closer to him, scowling. Engie laughed. “And as for trouble, mate, you’re a rather sneaky bastard who’s known for gettin’ stab-happy. Who wouldn’t suspect you of trouble?”  
  
Spy looked appalled. “Oh! _Mon chere,_   you wound me so!” Clutching his heart with his free hand, the Blu rogue threw his head back in mock heartbreak. “After all the things I do for you, I am still treated like garbage!”  
  
“What the hell have you ever done for me?” replied Sniper, ignoring the horrible reenactment of a scene from a Spanish soap opera. The lead actress was distressed; she requested her man’s attention; the baby had stopped breathing; Miguel slept with his aunt; etc. He really needed to stop watching late night television.  
  
Spy regained his posture, but had a rather pleased look on his face.  
  
“I have a present for you.” He said, standing up with one hand still behind his back. Sniper stared at him, unimpressed but feeling suspicious. His grip on his coffee mug tightened—he planned to throw it at him if there was a knife at all involved in the ‘present’ Spy had planned for him.  
  
Engie did not seemed as distressed as Sniper felt, but instead looked rather excited. He could see what Spy had behind his back.  
  
Circling around Sniper’s chair, Spy looked down right predatory. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.  
  
Finally, the surprise came.  
  
So swiftly did the box slam down on his head that Sniper had no time to react other than tensing up; the bow atop the bright, obnoxiously green box bounced merrily at the motion. Sniper’s eye twitched at both the holiday cheer delicately perched on his head and the roaring of laughter from his comrades. Spy was gasping, broken occasionally by a snort, and holding himself up by the back of the Aussie’s chair. Engie was fairing no better, banging his mechanical hand on the table.  
  
“What in the bloody hell is this all about!” Sniper flailed, releasing his coffee and trying to rid the tacky Christmas contraption from his person. Somehow, it had stuck. He looked as if one of Santa’s little helpers took a shit on him: red bow, green wrappings, glitter and all.  
  
“I—“ gasped Spy, “I wanted to give you a hat, so that you could _surprise_ our enemies in our next battle!”  
  
Sniper cursed the fact that they were stationed near a hat factory. His palm met his face, and Engie almost fell out of his chair. Realizing that none of them had gotten much sleep in the past week, Sniper felt as if he should’ve known something like this was coming. That or the lot of them had confused Medic’s pills for decorative Christmas candy when he wasn’t looking.  
  
Heavy had mentioned they were short on certain supplies.  
  
“You lot are a bunch of soddin’ gits.” He muttered, placing his face in his hands. The bells jingled. Spy gave a friendly pat on the back and nicked Sniper’s coffee mug. Taking a sip, his amusement disappeared with a grimace.  
  
“ _Mon dure!_ Zis is terrible!” marching over to the sink where all the other make-shift kitchen supplies were gathered, Spy dumped Sniper’s coffee and proceeded to make another pot. He pulled out some milk and a tin cup, pouring the white liquid in it and preparing to steam the concoction. “Let me make you something much more appetizing.”  
  
Engie perked up and requested politely that Spy make him a drink as well, to which the Blu rogue accepted with a twirl of a spoon.  
  
Sniper, head hung in shame and utter irritation, was dreaming of a burning hat factory with all his comrades in it. It only mildly improved his mood.  
  
He _hated_ Christmas with a passion.  
  
There was as loud hiss from behind him, and Spy muttered French nonsense while stirring the drinks. Sniper smelled chocolate and hot cream, which made Engie curious enough to wander over towards the kitchen to join Spy. There were surprised sounds of approval as he sampled one of the rogue’s creations, swirling the thick layer of foam with his ungloved finger.  
  
Sniper tried not to care as his mug was placed in front of him, steam clouding in his face. It smelled like vanilla.  
  
“Here,” Spy said, graciously gesturing to the peace offering in front of him. “Try zis.”  
  
The Aussie finally decided to take a sip, just to humor the damn spook before planning to spit it in his face. He did not expect to enjoy the warm beverage, or suddenly take a great liking to milky foam. It surprised him, and Spy took that as a good sign to sit down at the table with him and Engie. He pulled out one of his fancy cigarettes and lit it.  
  
Sniper decided there was no harm in finishing the drink, so he took another sip and hummed.  
  
 _Maybe I was wrong,_ he thought. _Maybe Christmas ain’t that bad._  
  
Spy and Engie took up conversation, chatting animatedly about tastes and the differences between French and Southern cuisine. They laughed, and the engineer was pleased with the creative mixture of chocolate and coffee and cream. He asked his comrade about it, and Spy corrected Engie that coffee deserved more credit as Italian rather than French. As he began to explain the origins of espresso, Sniper took another swing of his drink, burning his tongue horribly in the process.  
  
 _Then again,_ muttered the Aussie, _I could always be wrong._  
  


**Author's Note:**

> ((Spy is a secret barista and no one can stop me with this he is a master with coffee))


End file.
